Corbin Ashworth's face contorted with fury as he slammed the phone down. The heavy oak desk shuddered under the impact, causing his assistant to flinch.
"That insufferable woman," he spat, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "Who does Nora Donovan think she is, making demands of an Ashworth?"
I'd been summoned to his office minutes ago and now stood witnessing his rage. As his right-hand man, I was accustomed to these outbursts, but this one seemed particularly venomous.
"Sir?" I prompted carefully.
Corbin's eyes snapped to mine, cold and calculating. "The Donovans have forgotten their place. That simpering daughter of theirs had the audacity to threaten Isabelle, and now they're demanding compensation for 'emotional distress.'" He let out a harsh laugh. "As if an Ashworth could ever be threatened by those parasites."
